


praiseworthy

by Saraste



Series: KINKTOBER 2020 [28]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Established Relationship, Kinktober, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Geralt has a praisekink, Jaskier likes singing his praises out of bed and in... and to give Geralt a helping hand, when one is asked for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: KINKTOBER 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949290
Comments: 3
Kudos: 90





	praiseworthy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 28. praise kink of KINKTOBER 2020.

‘You’re doing so well…’ a voice, beloved, powerful, commanding but praiseful, crooned, ever so softly, in wonderment and awe.

He writhed in pleasure, just from that, from the words and the voice and truth behind it all that he could both hear and scent and  _ know _ .

He had craved those words for so long, had lived without praise, even acknowledgement, had grown used to not… to being taken for granted, hated and disliked.  _ Despised. _ But not here, not with Jaskier, who sang his praise in and out of bed.

‘Look at you...’ his bard was breathless with his words, the heady scent of his arousal, the overlay of  _ approval _ almost drowned Geralt with it’s intensity.

HIs body was open and eager for Jaskier’s touch, his ears perked up for his praise, his pleasure was a simmer, burning low and steady. He gasped. Jaskier shifted and he  _ couldn’t  _ not look.

Jaskier was a picture between his spread legs, one of Geralt’s legs hiked over a shoulder, head bent to look down between his legs where he was… gently coaxing his body to take in Jaskier’s hand to the wrist.

Geralt knew that he could, was slick with oil, loosened by Jaskier’s clever tongue, opened up by his fingers so that his bard could use his mouth for words, and now… the fullness made him feel punch-drunk. Having someone like this was being vulnerable and it should have scared him how readily he’d agreed, but he… trusted Jaskier and had from the first. If he hadn’t, his praise would not have had such an effect. 

Some days, when pleasure sizzled close to the surface, Geralt was sure that he could come from Jaskier’s words of adoration alone. But not today.

Today he intended to have Jaskier in him to the wrist and come to that and his breathless praise.

He wanted more, deeper, sooner.

‘Please…’

Jaskier chuckled, surprised, delighted. ‘Listen to you, asking. Using your… words.’ 

As he spoke, Jaskier had moved his hand again, a little shimmy, wriggling it deeper, Geralt’s body stretching around the wider part before the taper to the wrist and then…

‘Fuck… Geralt,’ was a desperate gush of air, and a kiss was pressed to the side of his knee where it was flung over Jaskier’s shoulder. ‘You took my whole hand, you…’

He didn’t need to be told, he knew, revelled in the fullness of it, in the satisfaction that he’d surprised Jaskier.

It would have been better if he’d known to tell Jaskier what to do now, if he didn’t know. Too bad. He’d never trusted anyone like this. But his bard was resourceful, he’d know what to do. Geralt was sure he could be content with this, the blunt fullness inside that was more than a cock, familiar and strange all at once. A pressure and a fullness and trust, so much trust.

‘Oh fuck, you’re gorgeous, you’re amazing…’ Jaskier’s praising voice, strained and breathless, faltered and his scent spiked.

Geralt felt the stickiness of cum against his thigh, where his bard had just been overcome by his lust just because his hand was wrist-deep in Geralt.

Jaskier’s praise was a breathless, punched-out ballad. ‘Fucking Melitele, you just made me come with just my hand inside you…’ the words faltered, ragged breaths dancing against Geralt’s oversensitized skin, always so buzzed when he was with Jaskier. ‘Fuck, I have my hand inside you, that’s… you’re a fucking  _ wonder _ , you are. So good.’

And then, then he figured out what to do with his hand once it was inside someone and Geralt lost himself in his praise and came and came and came, overcome by the gentle, careful, devastating little shimmies of Jaskier’s carefully curled fist inside him.

‘You’re gorgeous, you are…’ were the last he was aware of before the world went white and he floated off, safe and full and sated.

**Author's Note:**

> ... don't come at me about the position, it's... feasible, right? Maybe.


End file.
